


Missile Crisis

by Kat_Dakuu



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Dubious Consent, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-31
Updated: 2015-03-31
Packaged: 2018-03-20 15:02:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3654747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kat_Dakuu/pseuds/Kat_Dakuu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The cold war has ended and yet things are still tense between Russia and America. It may not be so cold anymore, but Russia still has the same smile. When he corners America after a meeting one day, what he wants may be exactly what America needs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Missile Crisis

“I don’t associate with commies. Stay away from me, Ivan!” Alfred snapped as he backed away from the smiling pale man. Since the cold war ended, they hadn’t talked, just stared. The almost war ended months ago, but both nations stopped coming to the world meetings during it and barely poked their faces in after. Sure their bosses got along better now and Russia had his own problems—not that Alfred paid attention to them. Russian or Soviet, they both had the same sick smile. For that reason alone, Alfred kept avoiding him. So when they both showed up at today’s world meeting, it was a total fluke of judgement. Really, it was Canada’s fault for telling him Russia skipped the last two. Now the super powers stood inches apart in a back hall, the meeting long over with.

“But my dear Fredka, I’m not communist anymore.” Ivan’s grin reached his eyes far too much for America’s comfort. Not a happy grin. It sent chills spreading over him as his stomach knotted up. Ivan’s sickly sweet voice made him desperate to get away.

“You’re creeping me out. Is that why you came here, bastard?” Alfred growled with his hands curling into fists. He wouldn’t stand for being the butt end of one of Russia’s jokes. He already dealt with enough crap from the other nations when he was purposely being jovial in front of them. Ivan was too much for Alfred to handle now. Each time he edged farther down the hall, the larger nation matched him step for step. Finally, America’s back bumped into the wall. Ivan reached toward him and he flinched, but the hand slipped past. Alfred realized his mistake too late when he felt the wooden door’s texture at his back. Ivan turned the handle, sending him tumbling into the room. He followed and closed the door again, locking it. Alfred's eyes widened one second, then quickly narrowed into a glare. Before the Russian man could approach, he scrabbled to his feet.

“No really, what kind of game are you playing at?” Alfred hissed as he glared the taller nation down while keeping a good two feet between them. He wouldn’t admit it, but Russia’s unusual degree of creepiness had him unsettled. The pale man’s grin faltered not once since he first cornered America.

“Game? This isn’t a game, Fredka...” America managed to hold his ground. Even though Russia advanced, he pulled himself taller and crossed his arms over his chest. It wasn’t often that America’s face turned dark with a serious frown. Any other nation would back off, but not Russia. Even the most dangerous glare never worked with him. The best it did was get Ivan’s grin to drop away to reveal the determined and very serious look that hid beneath.

With an exasperated huff, Alfred asked, “Then what is it?”

Ivan’s hands darted up and America didn’t have time to dodge them. Rather than getting hit like he expected, the hands pulled him close. He bumped into Ivan’s chest, one hand at his back and the other slipping behind his head to tangle in the young nation’s hair. Alfred was too stunned to respond.

“Do you have any idea what you standing up to me does? All through that ‘cold’ war, I’ve been getting hot.” Ivan’s voice dropped into a low growl that was almost...no, Alfred wouldn’t consider that the bestial sound could be lustful. Ivan hated America. He would never look at him that way. The hand low on his back tightened though, slipping just a little lower so that Alfred tried to pull away fruitlessly. He couldn’t believe this, wouldn’t believe it.

“...Ivan...are you-?” America couldn’t finish his sentence. God, he didn’t want to know. “Never mind. Let me go! I don’t know what kind of disturbed vile crap runs in your Communist mind!” His voice rose shrilly, aided just a little by hysteria. Russia’s fingers were _not_ brushing the hem of his jeans like they wanted inside. Ivan’s grin returned, only much more hungry.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this!” With that comment, Ivan spun him around and his face crashed into the wall. Before he could even blink in reaction, Ivan used his other hand to yank America’s pants down to his knees. The warm sticky air of the room hit his flesh as distinctly as a slap.

“What the hell are you doing!?” This time, America didn’t care that his voice hit a very distinct girly panic note. He was the hero damn it and he didn’t make girly noises, but the freaky Russian was after his ass and that allowed him some leeway. Alfred would never admit even to himself how Russia’s low chuckle sent _thrills_ through him. He didn’t need to look down to know he was responding to the rough treatment. Ivan’s hands tightened around his wrists before pressing them into the wall above his head.

“I think you know what I’m doing,” Ivan whispered. “It’s what you’ve been begging for the last 45 years.” His breath brushed right against Alfred’s ear, so warm and ticklish that he squirmed away even as his heart screeched to a horrible stop. Alfred knew. His breathing ratched up a notch. Even when Russia just stood there pressed up against him without doing a thing. What the hell _was_ he doing? Just watching Alfred squirm? Before he could gather enough wits to push Ivan away, the Russian finally jumped into action. He shoved a knee between America’s legs to part them. Alfred’s small gasp went unnoticed. He struggled, but he couldn’t even budge the Russian’s hands. Strange, normally he could fight Ivan punch for kick. Since when did Russia gain the ability to so completely dominate him?

One hand wandered over Alfred’s back and chest while the other kept hold of his wrists. No words spoken. Alfred still struggled to demand the Russian bastard take his hands away. Instead, he gaped and struggled for breath, most certainly not feeling short on it because of the way Ivan pinched the bit of flab around his stomach. Rather than thinking about the what’s, he was thinking about why. The cold war shifted during the end, becoming something he never intended for it to be. Alfred still didn’t understand what it shifted into, he just knew it stopped being so damn cold. If this moment was anything to judge by, the war heated up much more than he realized. Without Ivan ever having touched his exposed cock, it was fully hard and with every shift of their bodies it rubbed against the wall.

Alfred finally managed to growl when he felt Ivan’s hand span across his ass with a finger slipping inside the crack. “Stay away from me, bastard.” He wrenched his wrists hard. Sure he saw the looks Ivan gave him every time he built a bigger missile and stood on tip toe with that smug look like he won the war. Ivan would grin back and return to the table with something even bigger and better and the look in his eyes...he’d be undressing Alfred. Still America kept one-upping him, even when he saw how that fed the desire. How could he just back down? So when Ivan shoved a finger up his ass, Alfred had to consider that this was all his fault. He tensed, legs trembling. “I-I mean it. I wasn’t flirting with you! Who considers impending war foreplay?!” Alfred yelped again. He managed to tear his wrists away and dislodged Ivan and his probing finger by spinning around and kneeing the guy in the gut.

Ivan barely staggered back, but Alfred still jumped for the door. He made it two steps before Ivan’s hand clamped onto his arm and yanked him back. Rather than the wall, Ivan threw him to the floor. Alfred’s chin hit the tile so hard he tasted blood in his mouth. He scrabbled up on his elbows, but a knee shoved him back down. This wasn’t happening. This wasn’t what the cold war started as, but he couldn’t stop himself from responding to the grind against the small of his back before Ivan finally removed his knee. So what if he teased Ivan about having the ‘biggest missile’ every five minutes?

“I know it’s hard for you to admit it, but you’re the one who came on to me first!” Ivan growled. His voiced sounded so damn sure of it.

“...No...” America whispered. He would deny this until he couldn’t any longer. Vaguely he wondered when that would be. He’d rather ponder this question than how Ivan pulled him to his knees and pushed them apart. Or how he himself widened them further before Ivan positioned himself behind. No, Alfred wasn’t offering himself up. His knees were just uncomfortable on the damnable floor, because the floor was awful and most definitely not American. He felt something hard push against his asshole and he just knelt there like an idiot with his cock drooling precum.

Ivan shoved his way inside. Alfred screamed, his back arching as he tried to shoot away from the pain, his body moving mindlessly. Ivan’s hands held him firmly in place. All up and down his spine and butt, the pain reverberated and he swore something warm and sticky leaked out his ass. Blood? Alfred’s head barely stopped reeling from the thought when Ivan started his brutal pace. Each thrust sent him screaming again.

Through the pain, he noticed the faint brush of fingers against his hips, almost comforting. The gentle swirl drove Alfred crazier than the feeling of being penetrated. Ivan found Alfred’s prostrate quickly and angled for it. For all that his thrusts were rockets of pain, he was strangely intent on hitting that one spot each time until Alfred dropped his head onto the tile as he mumbled nonsense.

“I hate you!” America yelled.

The thrusting became more insistent. Alfred could have sworn that it turned Russia on. A slight groan slipped out of Alfred’s mouth. He pushed his hips back and Ivan just pulled him closer.

“Commie slut!”

Ivan slammed into Alfred.

“I hope you die!”

Alfred bit down on his tongue so hard that blood burst in his mouth. Ivan yanked his head back, forcing him to cry out and tighten even more around the man’s cock. His knees gave out, but Ivan didn’t even stutter in his pace and dropped down with Alfred. It felt like he would fuck him right through the floor, and Alfred still couldn’t stop his mouth.

“You should be committed for raping a man!”

Russia growled and suddenly bit down on Alfred’s shoulder until he formed a bruised and bloody mark of claim. Alfred shivered as the other man pulled away with his breath still running over his back. “Only because you have rape fantasies!”

For a second, Alfred completely forgot what position he was in as he whipped his head around to stare wide-eyed at Ivan. “I do not!” he exclaimed in indignation. Ivan smirked and found his prostrate again. Alfred’s head dropped back to floor with a strangled moan. He was so close. Oh god, why didn’t Ivan just touch his cock and end this misery?

“It’s okay...you can be honest with me.” Ivan’s voice dropped low. He didn’t taunt or throw out that usual creeper tone. Instead, his tone sounded warm...for Russia anyway. “You always look at the other nations with need. You throw yourself into war, into everyone else’s troubles, and play the hero so that you’ll be at the beck and call of someone else. You need to be used. You were just-” Ivan’s voice strained with the difficulty of coming up with words at a time like this. “...Just waiting for someone strong enough to dominate you. But it’s okay, I can be that person.” He choked back a groan and arched as he pushed himself hard into Alfred, who at this point could barely breathe, let alone think.

Ivan’s hand wrapped around his straining member and Alfred finally let his eyes close. He sighed and let it all go—let go of his pride and his anger, his duty, his fear, the expectations everyone had for him and his own for the world, and then he let go of ‘America’. No more. Right now, only _Alfred_ existed in this body. He relaxed into the man’s touch as everything went pleasantly hazy around the edges. When he went boneless, Ivan’s other hand held him up. He pulled one last time before Alfred came. Ivan followed immediately after, shooting his seed deep inside where it warmed and filled him better than food. They collapsed to the floor. Ivan pulled out and it took Alfred a minute to realize the larger nation’s breath was almost as ragged as his own. Considering how in control Ivan always seemed to be, the knowledge shocked him, but not as much as when Ivan pressed a kiss to his shoulder right over the bite mark.

Alfred didn’t remember the last time he felt this naked. It didn’t scare him though. Ivan held him so tight that the warmth from their sex couldn’t escape. It was minutes after and neither had yet to speak. Russia leaned against the wall with Alfred tucked into his arms and his head lolling on the man’s pale chest. Since when did Russia get so warm? So secure? Deep down, Alfred always knew he was messed up. Probably it was England’s fault for spoiling him and his own for wanting freedom before being ready for it. Really, he just ran away from England because he scared himself with liking to be under someone’s rule. He was the US of the fuckin’ A. He wasn’t supposed to like being someone’s bitch, but the way Ivan played with did hair did seriously funny things to him. Alfred wanted him to stay.

There was no stopping it now. Ivan had always been right, about the war, about him, everything. Alfred cast about frantically for a way to express his appreciation for someone finally understanding and helping him come to terms with it himself. The only thing he could think of was giving Ivan the win for the cold war’s biggest battle.

“Damn Russia. Y-you really have the biggest missiles...!”


End file.
